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Saturday Waffling (January 3rd, 2014)

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Right. Happy 2015, then. I just wanted to give everyone an update on what we're going to be doing around here for the year. For January and the start of February, at least, the plan is more or less as it has been. TARDIS Eruditorum on Mondays and Fridays, The Last War in Albion on Thursdays, comics reviews on Wednesdays. On three Tuesdays in January, there will also be posts on Sherlock Season Three. Those will be funded by the Patreon.

There will also be one bonus post in January, with its topic to be determined by Patreon backers, so if you want say in what I write that on, well, you know what to do.

Come February 9th, TARDIS Eruditorum will end. At that point, the weekly schedule will shuffle, but for at least a while it will be the long-promised audio commentaries on Doctor Who episodes one day, Last War in Albion another, and a third day of... something. Game of Thrones reviews, initially, but it will vary. But as long as the Patreon remains over $200 per blogpost, I'll post something media criticism related once a week. In addition to that, I'll do a monthly bonus post, which will go up for free, without charge to anyone.

And if the Patreon makes it to $400 per blogpost ever, I'll go to two posts a week, still only charging for one. So basically, for $1 a week, you can ensure this blog continues indefinitely, doing something or other. It'll vary. Game of Thrones is going to be first, but I've got other ideas in mind for the future, and I look forward to getting to them all.

So. What's your New Year's resolution?

Currently working on: The Secret Doctor Who Project.

Post of the Week: Through Powdered Teeth (The Last War in Albion Part 77: Valerie)

Where's Mother: The Doctor's Revisited (Colin Baker)

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There are two observations about this special that strike me as getting to the heart of it. The first is that, more than ever, Steven Moffat is the most interesting thing on display here. I've been making snarky jokes here and there about it nearing the 20th anniversary of his great "slag off most of Doctor Who" drunken performance piece at a con, but it's here we have to admit that Steven Moffat has, at the very least, played two different characters in his life when it comes to commenting on the classic series. Which one is the authentic Steven Moffat is of course a matter for debate, and if you think the answer is either of them you're a fool, but nevertheless, we all know he's capable of a devastating and scathing review of this era that outdoes any other.

So it's fundamentally interesting to see him relied upon so heavily to offer a defense of this era. It is, to be sure, not hard to reconcile the positions. His praise is based on the daringness of the ideas in the Baker era, which has always been the thing you can praise about it. It would have been easy to keep Doctor Who around as wallpaper, and by god it didn't. But it's easy to imagine a lengthy amount of unused footage in which he points out that absolutely none of these lofty ideas play out. Nevertheless, those with a fondness for literary biography are spoiled for choice in arguing that the inspiration for the Capaldi era came from trying to redemptively read the Colin Baker era.

This brings us neatly to the second observation, which is that it gives a surprisingly thorough sense of the turmoil of this era without ever speaking the names "John Nathan-Turner,""Eric Saward," or "Ian Levine." Colin Baker and Nicola Bryant are both visibly at the edge of saying that there were some major problems with the era. Baker, at times, seems at pains to be much more soft-spoken, and to highlight the degree to which his Doctor was a performance.

But more to the point, there's no attempt to shy away from The Twin Dilemma. The strangling scene is there and acknowledged. Defended by Bryant, yes, and unfortunately, but there in all its upsetting glory. Nobody quite tries to defend the coat so much as explain it. You can tell this is a problematic era, even though the program is basically positive.

And it has to be said, it makes good points. Its acknowledgment of how Baker was allowed to improve his performance in his second season is a nice touch, but I was genuinely surprised to see them make the case that the nature of his improvement was set up in The Twin Dilemma. And Moffat's end-of-episode plug of Vengeance on Varos is an enormously emphatic thing that's based on a tremendous respect for it as a serious piece of television. The fact that he takes the time to highlight the presence of a serious writer on Doctor Who is enormously appealing, simply because it is such a Moffat thing to focus upon.

And in the end, its positioning of the Sixth Doctor era is, I think, fair progress in our discourse about it. Its blanket defense/explanation is essentially "look, it was the 80s," which is remarkably sound. The point that the clashing colors of the coat and the excessive brashness were very much of the 1980s is the same point that was so visibly lacking in the Pertwee special with regards to the 1970s. And it's an effective defense, because it's tremendously clever in what points it concedes. Ultimately, it's the observation that a Thatcher-era Doctor Who was always going to have to exist, and be kind of awful, and here it is, but at least it's interesting. Which is all true, just less interested in the "kind of awful" than most people historically have been.

But that's still the best defense of the era anyone has mustered to date. And given that Moffat ultimately used the 50th Anniversary to symbolically remove the wound in Doctor Who's history that's normally blamed on this era, it's a good defense.

In this regard, Vengeance on Varos is blatantly the best choice they've made for stories to show. They set the viewer up for all the necessary allowances, and then let the story's numerous and genuine virtues shine through. The only problem it ends up with is one it's under no obligation to solve, which is that unless you know about Big Finish, there's nowhere good to go after it.

Comic Reviews (January 7th, 2015)

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From worst to best, with almost everything being something I paid money for...

Miracleman #14

I say almost because I put this back on the rack at the shop. Apparently a printing error rendered key portions of the dialogue in this issue illegible. Look, I'm willing to pay $4.99 for sixteen pages of story on the grounds that it's a high quality reproduction of a historically important comic. I think it's a bit much, and I wish this had other formats, but it's obviously something I'm willing to pay money for. But for fuck's sake, Marvel. If you're charging what you do for this book, you don't get to have printing errors. This is properly appalling.

X-Men #23

Between frankly awful art and an overly leisurely first issue, this was quite the disappointment. G Willow Wilson on X-Men is an auto-buy for me, and I'll stick out this arc, but man, I'd have bet on this being in the top three of any week, and certainly of a week with only six books, so this is a bit of a shocker.

Amazing Spider-Man #12

While I appreciate the "let's do a crossover where you don't have to buy more than the main title" to pull it off ethos of Spider-Verse, I have to say, if the way this is accomplished is having a huge swath of every issue consist of Peter Parker basically going "uhhh, fight scene, can you hang on for a moment while I take a phone call in which someone gets me up to speed on the tie-in books," it might just be better to declare it a twenty-part crossover and tell people to buy every book.

Trees #8

If you thought the end of the first arc (and what was originally possibly to be the end of the series) was going to in some way clarify the pacing or logic of this book, you were hilariously mistaken.

Angela: Asgard's Assassin #2

I was eating lunch while I read this comic, and the scene with Angela returning the ball nearly killed me. The rest is good fun as well - I did not expect this comic to be quite so funny, in fact, which is perhaps strange given that Gillen is co-writing it.

The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl #1

Everything I wanted from this title. Big, colorful, silly, and with tiny extra jokes printed at the bottom of most of the pages, which isn't really a surprise given how well Ryan North uses extra punchlines over at Dinosaur Comics. A total hoot. Very much recommended.

Leave the Girl, It's The Man I Want: The Doctors Revisited (Sylvester McCoy)

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It's one of those days where, as I'm going to bed, I say "crap, I forgot to format and queue Last War in Albion, I'd better run a TARDIS Eruditorum in its place." Whatever am I going to do in a month when I don't have TARDIS Eruditorum for that? In any case, Last War in Albion is Friday this week.

I noted on Monday that it was an obvious mistake to ignore the fact that Moffat's ex cathedra statements on the history of Doctor Who have always been performative, both in his cranky Internet fan days and in his "not allowed to have opinions anymore" days. Which makes the introduction to Remembrance of the Daleks at the end of this episode something to behold, in that Moffat both admits that he thought Season Twenty-Four was a disaster (which I disagree with, but recognize that Moffat is exactly the sort of Doctor Who fan for whom the panto aspects of Paradise Towers, for instance, are going to be disqualifying in considering any other merits it may have), and then frames his reaction to Remembrance of the Daleks in terms of the fact that his own television career had begun at this point. His description of cutting short a production meeting to watch Remembrance and being blown away by it is visibly Moffat speaking as an outright fan, and not as a particular performance of fan opinions that he's putting on for a puff piece.

All three of the 80s-era episodes have felt like conscious decisions to build to the episodes they show, whether in a strangely subverting way, as with Earthshock, or as a concentrated and focused attempt to get an episode to shine, as with Vengeance on Varos. In this case, an odd weight is put on Remembrance to illustrate something that is claimed several times, but never actually displayed in any of the clips, which is that there's a darkness to McCoy's portrayal. The episodes used for clips here are tremendously revealing: there is not a frame from Season Twenty-Six. Everything from McCoy's first two seasons is used save for Delta and the Bannermen, which gets photos. The emphasis is overwhelmingly on the clownish aspects of McCoy's performance, at least in terms of what actually gets shown.

Nowhere is this clearer than the treatment of Remembrance, where the Doctor and Davros's confrontation is shown, only it completely evades all discussion of blowing up Skaro. Instead, it focuses on McCoy's performance of "mock the ranting bad guy," which does lead to McCoy's memorable description of Davros as "Hitler only rotting," but is an approach to talking about that scene that I don't think anyone had ever tried before. And yet the talking heads bring up the way that McCoy added mystery to the performance repeatedly, even as the clips ostentatiously lack all mention of it.

The shocking absence, of course, is the climax of The Curse of Fenric, which would have allowed them to press the fleeting claim that McCoy set up the modern Doctor in a real and sincere way. Instead we get a focus on the Rani, in which we must try to keep a straight face as Steven Moffat of all people tries to present a serious case that the Rani is a good and compelling idea. (And yet even there, his defense of her could serve as a description of GUS in Mummy on the Orient Express. Over and over again, one gets the sense of him drawing inspiration from this exercise in picking through the old toybox and coming up with a redemptive reading of everything.) But, of course, by then showing Remembrance of the Daleks, which is so straightforwardly a triumph, and which watches as well twenty-five years later as An Unearthly Child did when it was made, they end up making the case in the most compelling way possible. Instead of the darker notes being presented as aspects of a character, they're allowed to be experienced in terms of the storytelling they allowed. For a viewer who's been along for the ride and learning about the Doctors in monthly lessons, this must have felt like the revelation it did to Moffat, withouit even having to sit through Time and the Rani.

Another way of putting this is that the somewhat arbitrary simplifications of the earliest episodes start to become an advantage when turning to a relatively disputed era of the program's history, in that they give the opportunity to present a Seventh Doctor Experience instead of a definitive account of the Seventh Doctor. Or a Sixth Doctor Experience, let's be fair, since I am obviously much more fond of the Seventh than the Sixth.

Which seems an excellent place to leave off, given what comes next.

Stealth Prophecy (The Last War in Albion Part 78: The End of Book Two, Europe)

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This is the sixth of fifteen parts of The Last War in Albion Chapter Nine, focusing on Alan Moore's work on V for Vendetta for Warrior (in effect, Books One and Two of the DC Comics collection). An omnibus of all fifteen parts can be purchased at Smashwords. If you purchased serialization via the Kickstarter, check your Kickstarter messages for a free download code.

The stories discussed in this chapter are currently available in a collected edition, along with the eventual completion of the story. UK-based readers can buy it here.

Previously in The Last War in AlbionMoore's second book of V for Vendetta comes to a climax in a chapter entitled "Valerie," which alternates between Evey's apparent torture at the hands of the Norsefire regime and her reading of a letter penned by a previous prisoner of the regime telling her life story.

"With language now under surveillance he resorts to code. Stealth prophecy. Boils down oppression and resistance into glowering essences, to barbarous names." -Alan Moore, Angel Passage

The art cuts back to Evey for the final row of panels, her face in shadow, a single tear visible, the narration returning to her instead of simply her quoting Valerie. “I know every inch of this cell,” she thinks, as she holds the scrap of toilet paper up, her face shrunken and lined with wrinkles that should be impossible for a woman who is only sixteen years old, and kisses it softly on the x. “This cell knows every inch of me.” And a final panel, her eyes and nose, weathered, single tear still suspended on her face, the edges of it simply fading out to the stark and infinite whiteness of the page. 

“Except one.”

Figure 599: Evey retains her last inch, refusing
to sign a false confession. (Written by Alan Moore,
art by David Lloyd, in Warrior #26, 1985)
“Valerie” is followed by “The Verdict,” the last chapter of V for Vendetta to be published in Warrior. The chapter opens with Evey being offered the opportunity to confess to her “crimes” - that she was kidnapped by V, “systematically brainwashed by means of drugs and torture” and “frequently subjected to sexual abuse,” and that she aided him in “the unlawful killings of Roger Dascombe, Mr. Derek Almond, Dr. Della Surridge, and the Reverend Antony Lilliman, Bishop of Westminster,” and that “the above statement is genuine, and that it was not signed by means of intimidation.” This last statement is rather clearly untrue, however, as when she declines to send it she’s told that she’ll be taken “out behind the chemical sheds” and shot. 

Figure 600: The final page of V for Vendetta
to appear in Warrior. (Written by Alan Moore,
art by David Lloyd, from "The Verdict" in Warrior
#26, 1985)
And so Evey returns to her cell and reads Valerie’s letter again, waiting for Rossiter to come and take her to her execution. She’s given one last chance to sign the statement. “You could be out in three years. Perhaps they’d find you a job with the finger,” she’s told, but she declines once again, saying, “thank you, but I’d rather die behind the chemical sheds.” And so her guard proclaims that “there’s nothing left to threaten with” and tells her that she’s free. Shocked, she turns around and sees that her cell door is open and unguarded. She stumbles out through the compound, realizing that all the soldiers and guards are just dummies and tape recorders. Finally, she pushes through a door and comes into the main room of the Shadow Gallery, where V stands waiting for her, saying simply, “welcome home.”

Figure 601: After a three year delay, Evey finally
reacts to the cliffhanger of "The Verdict." (Written
by Alan Moore, art by David Lloyd, from "Values" in
V for Vendetta #7, 1988)
Part Two of V for Vendetta ultimately had two further chapters, both of which saw first publication in DC Comics’ V for Vendetta #7 in 1988, although the first of them, “Values,” was written and drawn for the never-published Warrior #27. It continues the exclusive focus on Evey, resolving the rather striking cliffhanger on which the series was hung for nearly four years. It starts with a close-up of Evey, shocked by the revelation, as she breaks down sobbing that “yuh-you hit me, and, and you cut off my hair… it was you. It was just you all this time… you… tortured… me… oh, you tortured me… oh god, why?” 

Figure 602: Evey's ascension. (Written by Alan Moore, art by David Lloyd,
from "Values" in V for Vendetta #7, 1988)
To this, V replies simply, “Because I love you. Because I want to set you free.” As Evey erupts in horror at this claim, sputtering, “you say you want to set me free and you put me in a prison,” he explains that “you were already in a prison. You’ve been in a prison all your life… happiness is the most insidious prison of all.” He continues telling her how she’s free now, while she grows increasingly frantic and panicked. “Woman, this is the most important moment of your life,” he tells her, “don’t run from it” as she doubles over, saying that she can’t breathe. “You were in a cell, Evey,” tells her. “They offered you a choice between the death of your principles and the death of your body. You said you’d rather die. You faced the fear of your own death, and you were calm and still. Try to feel now what you felt then,” V tells her, while she lies in his arms, saying “Oh, Oh, I can feel it… oh what is it… oh, I’m going to die, I’m going to burst… I… uh… oh God… I felt… huhh… I… felt… like… an angel.” Finally he takes her out onto the roof, where she stands nude in the rain. “V…” she says. “Everything’s so… different. I… I feel so…,” and V reassures her, “I know. Five years ago, I too came through a night like this, naked under a roaring sky. This night is yours. Seize it. Enricle it within your arms. Bury it in your heart up to the hilt. Become transfixed. Become transfigured. Forever.”

This, as the final chapter of Part Two renders explicit, serves as Evey’s initiation - the point at which she comes to fully embrace V’s anarchist ideology. (In it, V also explains what attentive readers would have figured out in the “Valerie” chapter, namely that Valerie was the woman one door down from V in Larkhill.) But more to the point, it is the first time Moore has written a magical initiation into one of his comics, although he was still years off from actually having the aesthetic and philosophical framework to consciously craft it as such. Nevertheless, the overall structure is visibly that of the descent into the abyss, confrontation with ego-death/Choronzon, and subsequent rebirth. It is also worth noting that this is clearly the most important sequence in V for Vendetta, at least in terms of emphasis. Fully five straight chapters are devoted to Evey’s experience in prison, starting with the dream sequence of “Vicissitudes” and ending with her rain-soaked transfiguration. One could even argue six chapters by counting “Vengeance,” which, as an all-Evey chapter, is not an unreasonable claim either. In comparison, the entire arc from Evey offering to help V to the end of Part One is only six chapters, and contains sequences featuring at least eight different characters. Nowhere else in V for Vendetta is there anything nearly as long and singularly focused as V’s extended manipulation and psychological warfare against Evey. Its thirty-six pages form nearly fifteen percent of the total narrative. 

Figure 603: Evey, after the destruction
of her whole personality at the hands
of V. (Written by Alan Moore, art by David
Lloyd, from "Vignettes" in V for Vendetta
#7, 1988)
And yet, strikingly, there is no moral debate anywhere within V for Vendetta about V’s kidnapping and torturing Evey. This is striking, given that the moral debate over killing is ultimately what Moore would opt to focus the story’s climax on, and yet none of V’s murders are as unsettling as his treatment of Evey. The fact that the reader is shown Evey’s treatment sincerely, as though all is as it appears is tremendously affecting, especially when one recalls that the comic was being serialized monthly, such that the amount of time the reader spends genuinely believing Evey is in a fascist prison undergoing the sort of authoritarian interrogations for which the adjective “Kafka-esque” was coined is not merely twenty pages but the better part of four months. And this is clearly a concept that does genuinely disturb Moore, because he was already planning Liz Tremayne’s storyline in Swamp Thing, which he described in terms that could equally well apply to what V does to Evey: “the destruction of one human being’s whole personality by another.” When talking about it in terms of Swamp Thing, he called it “an example of human evil that, to me, is more frightening than any number of demons from hell.” So the basic horror of what happens to Evey is such that the revelation that it’s all for Evey’s own good and her subsequent thanking of V “for what you’ve done for me” is not really enough to counterbalanace it.

But equally, that’s the point. It’s unfair to suggest that Moore gives V a moral pass on this. But it is nevertheless the case that while the narrative eventually sides against V on the issue of killing, it never really does on the issue of torturing someone at length to convert them to your ideological position. It may be unsettling, but it comes closer to being praised than condemned. It is easy to make too much of this - Moore, in several interviews, says something to the effect of “although the artwork was very black-and-white, with no shades of gray, I thought that one of the most interesting things about the strip was that morally there was nothing but gray.” Surely the torture of Evey is the ultimate example of this. But equally, there is something revealing in the fact that this is not one of the issues Moore chooses to move out of the realm of ambiguity in the story’s resolution. Ultimately, one suspects that Moore is not entirely willing to commit to the idea that the searing radiance of spiritual enlightenment need be consensual. Certainly this position is compatible with V for Vendetta as a whole. The story may not go to the theatrical extremes that V does within it, but its overall purpose is clearly to unsettle the reader’s assumed beliefs about the world and to get them to seriously consider anarchist revolution as a solution to their ills. And it is worth highlighting the word “theatrical,” as ultimately, that’s what V’s psychological assault on Evey, from the moment he exiles her to the end of Book Two, is: an act of elaborate theater. At the end of the day, Moore is clearly in favor of using art to terrorize people into spiritual enlightenment.  

Figure 604: The title page to Blake's unfinished
The French Revolution.
Blake, of course, was much the same. Floundering in the early stages of his career, and roiling with his visionary, revolutionary politics, Blake felt the noose tightening in more ways than one. The aftermath of the French Revolution led to a crackdown on dissidents in England - a 1792 Royal Proclamation specifically condemned “seditious writings.” Blake, in this time, was open about his politics, composing but never publishing the first part of what was intended to be a seven book poem about the Revolution. But in time Blake’s outward vigor dimmed. It was not that he lacked courage - quite the contrary, he boldly printed America a Prophecy under his own name. And yet the same year, he (quite wrongly) predicted that he would not survive five more years, and speculated “if I live one it will be a Wonder.” But Blake was always particularly terrified of being persecuted for his beliefs, both political and religious, and this combined with his revulsion as Revolution gave way to Terror. Modifying the printing techniques he’d developed for The Marriage of Heaven and Hell and Songs of Innocence, Blake began composing his Continental Prophecies, which were at once more radical and more cryptic than The French Revolution

This esotericism had an unsettling yet compelling effect. Freed of merely crafting commentary on existing events, Blake’s mythic reworkings of history and revolution provided something more like an idealized form of revolution - one that reached beyond the immediate circumstances of his time and instead got at the very heart of social and political change. Blake was no longer writing anything so trite as allegory. The word he chose was terrifying in its boldness: prophecy. Blake is not describing history, but the shape and way in which the world will and might and can change. This is not art about persuasion, or political commentary, but about revelation - about revealing the shape of the end of the world. 

And yet the turn from explicit political commentary to something more shrouded and occult is carried over in the works themselves. Neither his mythic reworking of the American Revolution nor its sequel, Europe a Prophecy, tell stories of revolutions that fix the world, or even necessarily improve it. Instead they simply serve as another turn through Blake’s increasingly complex mythology - indeed, the same year that Europe a Prophecy saw print, Blake also put out The Book of Urizen, the start of a completely different cycle of books. Just as the American Revolution falls short because, ultimately, Orc is an inadequate figure, the French Revolution as depicted in Europe a Prophecy turns gradually rotten as the book unfolds.

Figure 605: Title page to Blake's Europe
a Prophecy
 (Copy K, Object 2, written
1794, printed 1821)
The central character of Europe a Prophecy is Enitharmon, who makes her first substantive appearance within Blake’s system here, having been mentioned in passing in America a Prophecy. Over the alrger course of Blake’s mythology, Enitharmon is one of the most central female figures, serving as the counterpart to Los/Urthona, the creative urge and the closest thing Blake’s mythos has to a protagonist. This is a complex role to play, not least because Blake’s vision of femininity is a complex and not always entirely pleasant thing. In this regard, it is also significant that Europe a Prophecy opens with a prelude that itself continues the prelude of America a Prophecy in narrating the story of Orc, this time talking about “the nameless shadowy female” who “rose from out the breast of Orc,” and who addresses Enitharmon. Blake would later develop the character of the shadowy female into a fallen form of Vala, the fearsome emanation of gentle Luvah (whose own fallen form is Orc), and she would come to play a key role in his mythology, particularly in The Four Zoas.

Vala opens Europe a Prophecy by railing against Enitharmon, asking her, “wilt thou bring forth other sons? To cause my name to vanish, that my place may not be found.” She speaks of how she, “sitting in fathomless abyss of my immortal shrine” looks up at heaven and the stars and seizes “their burning power” so she can “bring forth howling terrors, all devouring fiery kings. Devouring & devour’d roaming on dark and desolate mountains In forests of eternal death, shrieking in hollow trees.” [continued]

Saturday Waffling (January 10th, 2015)

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I've been reading the A Song of Ice and Fire books, since I feel like I should before I start blogging that.

One chapter begins, "A white book sat on a white table in a white room.”

George R.R. Martin is no Terrance Dicks, clearly.

So, what are your impressions, thoughts, or histories with Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire? What sort of audience am I actually writing to here when I get to this next mad folly of mine?

Currently working on: The Secret Doctor Who Project and the Logopolis book

Post of the Week: Stealth Prophecy, but really the entire run of the V for Vendetta chapter so far. My concession, as it were, to clarity - I felt like I should continue the sort of frenzied high that the Swamp Thing chapter became, and just do nearly six straight posts of close-reading before crashing into an equal and opposite digression. Which starts now, obviously, and goes through... some varied and idiosyncratic places. If you like Antonin Artaud or Enid Blyton, you are going to enjoy the next few weeks. 

It Was On The Planet Skaro: The Doctors Revisited (Paul McGann)

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As a piece of television - as a historical artifact, say, to be observed at some future date, - this is bizarre. It can only be described as a nineteen-minute DVD featurette for the TV Movie. To some extent all of The Doctors Revisited are DVD extras, and this one is one of those ones in the rather weird tradition of trailers for a thing you've already decided to spend money on. "Here's the interesting bits of what you just watched," essentially. Except actually put before the TV Movie.

As a result, it inevitably comes off as an apologia, which, to be fair, it basically is. Moffat's intro feels more selectively edited than usual. They have Marcus Wilson, who for a couple episodes now has seemed to be taking over for Caro Skinner in the job of being asked nicely to say something by the producer and then having the camera be turned on (I will be honest, I have no actual idea whether Skinner or Wilson were actually big Doctor Who fans who were expressing their genuine memories of the time or whether they are, like John Barrowman blatantly is, being briefed on Doctor Who lore and then put on camera), talking about how nice it is that they have Sylvester McCoy back. They have Sylvester McCoy footage on the TV Movie. The odds that they had McCoy on camera doing his party piece about how the biggest problem with the TV Movie was that he was in it are pretty high. They're clearly doing their damndest to spin the TV Movie into a credible way to entertain yourself for ninety minutes, though I imagine they ran commercials so it was more like two and a half hours.

For what it's worth, their defense is a good one. They set the TV Movie up to basically be read as the not entirely adequate pilot for a never-made American television series that could plausibly have evolved into something very much like the modern Doctor Who had it been allowed to run. This may or may not actually fit the reality of the production, but it works. They find enough little moments to show that are quite clever, at least. I'll admit, I had completely forgotten the gag of the Master convincing Chang Lee that the Doctor was secretly Genghis Khan. That's properly brilliant.

But in most regards, in hindsight, it's what it's not that's significant. For one thing, it's not a discussion of the Wilderness Years. Or, for that matter, an admission of them. This is in some ways genuinely sad, not least because they have Nicholas Briggs on there to praise Paul McGann's performance, but Briggs never actually gets to talk about working with him and helping shape that performance, which he did for the overwhelming majority of McGann's actual performance as the Doctor. And McGann is the only Doctor that Big Finish can say that about - most of the time Paul McGann has spent in his life performing the role of the Eighth Doctor has been for Big Finish. Instead the McGann era gets cut down to precisely ninety minutes, and they're not very good minutes.

To be fair, nothing else acknowledged the existence of non-televised Doctor Who either, so it's tough to complain as such. It's fair and within the rules of this program, at least: only the television show is being historicized. That's generally been the rule for things like this and Doctor Who Confidential. So it's not at all that it's unusual that all we talk about is the TV Movie, although it is awkward that we have to do twenty minutes about a ninety minute television program when our only three interview guests are two co-stars and a cameo.

But, of course, it also has the awkward fate of coming out just a few months before Night of the Doctor makes a significant addition to what we call the McGann era. And so this has the doubly odd fate of defending a position that it wouldn't have felt the need to defend just a few months later. They could have done something completely different if they'd had a second story, and they surely would have, except that the big surprise release of McGann's regeneration story hadn't happened yet. So we get the most utilitarian episode of The Doctors Revisited - one that turns out to be obsolete just three months on.

The Empty Hearse

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This month we're filling in the gap between the last TARDIS Eruditorum post and the start of the Capaldi reviews by doing Sherlock Season Three on Tuesdays. These posts are sponsored by my backers at Patreon. If you enjoy this blog and want to continue seeing media criticism past the end of TARDIS Eruditorum, please consider backing.

"We're going to lie to you,"Sherlock announced to ring in 2014, and then it went on to do just that. It had, in the tradition of fair lies, told as much well in advance. "It's a trick. Just a magic trick." And so, of course, it was. Indeed, The Empty Hearse is in effect a ninety minute exercise in arguing that the question of how Sherlock survived The Reichenbach Fall is irrelevant, or at least largely uninteresting.

To call this a bold response to one's own iconic pop culture moment seems an understatement. And the reactions at the time are worth recalling, even if it is only a year on. First and most interesting were those who felt that The Empty Hearse was mean-spirited in its treatment of fandom, a criticism that focused especially on the depiction of slash fiction within the episode. And yet it's difficult to quite articulate what about the portrayal of slash fans is offensive here. The only person to really mock them is Anderson, and Laura's observation that her Sherlock/Moriarty slash is no more ludicrous than some of Anderson's own theories is, in the context of the story's larger attitude towards the idea of "solving" Sherlock's survival, significant. She, at least, is in on her own joke, which Anderson never gets to be.

And it is, ultimately, the joke that's at issue, which is where this episode's boldness comes in. That The Empty Hearse was going to be read largely in terms of how well it resolved the cliffhanger was, of course, a foregone conclusion. You don't get to have that kind of media coverage and then not be judged on how you stick the landing. Devoting an entire episode to it instead of, as they had with the cliffhanger of The Great Game, lampshading it with an absurdly reductive resolution was essentially a necessity. But what wasn't necessary was making The Empty Hearse into a ninety minute exploration of what it means to resolve the cliffhanger in the first place.

Which brings us to the second reaction, the accusation that the story was self-indulgent. Which misses the point in many ways. Yes, three separate flashback sequences of "how Sherlock did it" are a bit self-indulgent, but this is clearly the purpose of the exercise. The resolution isn't how Sherlock did it, it's Sherlock and John making amends over a ticking time bomb, hence the cut to the "actual" explanation (which may or may not be the actual explanation, but is, one suspects, the explanation they had in mind when they filmed The Reichenbach Fall) in the middle of the climax, so as to hammer home the point about what actually matters in resolving the cliffhanger.

This gets to the third interesting reaction at the time, which was the degree to which this episode's best case scenario was clearly "not failing." It was generally judged to have done so, but praise for the episode was thin. It was designed to get the highest ratings of Season Three, but even before The Sign of Three it was also fairly obviously designed to be the least important one - the one that tied off the unfinished business of Season Two and cleared the decks for the other two episodes, one of which, we should recall, was only four days away anyway.

The snarky thing to say right now would be "plus it was the Gatiss episode," although that's unfair in the context of Sherlock in particular. Nevertheless, it's worth remarking up front about the implications of moving the Steven Moffat episode to the end of the run, given that it is clearly, after two seasons, Moffat who writes the big showpiece episodes of Sherlock. The decision to have the show's big open not be its creative showpiece is, in hindsight, significant, as it turns the series into, in effect, a training exercise for His Last Vow.

Which brings us back around to the issue of lying. Because the real crux of this is why it doesn't actually matter how Sherlock survived. For one school of thought, this was a point of maximal hubris - how dare you build up a cliffhanger for two years and then declare that it doesn't actually matter? But, of course, the episode ultimately makes a fairly compelling case, demonstrating that it's not actually very hard to come up with ways Sherlock could have survived, and that, indeed, people had spent the last two years coming up with a near-exhaustive list.

And then there's the other school of thought - the one that says that Sherlock is a show about the relationship between two people, and that the entire point of using Sherlock Holmes as the vehicle for this is because the actual act of deducing things and solving mysteries is effectively trivial. This, it's pretty obvious, is the school of thought that the actual people making Sherlock subscribe to. And so in the face of a cliffhanger mystery that threatened to consume the entire definition of what the show was, this sort of retrenchment was absolutely vital.

And in hindsight, it's what turns out to be most important about this episode. Watching Amanda Abbington's performance with knowledge of what's to come is fascinatingly revealing - her delivery of the line where she notes that of course Sherlock told Molly he was alive, because he'd need a confidant is delightfully nuanced - you can see her own version of John and Sherlock's addiction to what they do as she finds herself instinctively playing along with Sherlock, providing the basis for her beautifully delivered "I like him" in the cab to John. This is clearly what the show would like to be doing, and fair enough - it's appreciably more exciting than a ninety minute tease to get us back to the point where we actually have a functional show again.

It seems silly to complain that The Empty Hearse is bad, not least because it isn't. But it's ninety minutes of retraining us to watch Sherlock - reminding us that this show is a shell game about how many steps ahead of the narrative Sherlock is, in which everything we see is game for a sudden forced reevaluation. Gatiss fills the intervening moments well - the choice of the Underground setting based on seeing Web of Fear is sweet, not least because Gatiss is right that it provides good imagery - and the fact that they do the Giant Rat of Sumatra case is both a nice nod to Sherlock Holmes canon and a charming Doctor Who joke.

More substantively, there are some great character moments both small (Lestrade's reaction to Sherlock's return, John apologizing to Mrs. Hudson in an inversion of the train scene at the end) and large (Mycroft and Sherlock's game of deductions). At every turn, this is better than it needs to be. But it is, I think, the episode of Season Three where it doesn't feel like their heart is in it, and when they're stuck doing what they have to do instead of what they want to do. The result is a beautifully made clearing of the throat, to which the only real response is "fair enough, what's next?"

Comics Reviews (January 14th, 2015)

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Worst to best, everything I paid money for.

Also, boo to Marvel for not reprinting Miracleman #14. As someone who has paid $65 towards getting a full run of Miracleman in single issue form, I find the fact that they've decided to just not release a readable version of one of the best issues in the run a slap in the face. What, would it just not be a run of Miracleman without completely fucking up at some point? Moore was wise not to have his name on this shitshow.

Rat Queens Special: Bragga #1

I've not been excited about this book in a bit, and so came at this as a sort of "why am I pulling you again" issue, since a one-off special ought be a good place to showcase the book's strengths. This was competent but doesn't seem to have anything new to say over the last few issues, and I think I'll drop it.

Captain Marvel #11

I've more or less enjoyed DeConnick's Captain Marvel, and I like the basic idea of the character and DeConnick's approach, but I haven't felt excited by the book in a while, and I think this is my jumping off point. I thought the "let's do an issue back on Earth" was going to be a great premise. Instead it's mostly concerned with stopping a kind of two-bit villain from the end of DeConnick's Avengers Assemble run. With both this and Rat Queens, I have the sense that the writers had a brilliant miniseries worth of concept, and are wasting it on a pretty good extended run.

SHIELD #2

Will not be adding this. I see what it's going for, and the ending is sweet. Waid is good at this sort of book - I remain fond of his unloved The Brave and the Bold at DC. But it's not grabbing me, and even Kamala Khan, who looks a strong contender for "most important new Marvel character of the last ten years," doesn't enliven this much, in part as I'm not massively sold on her characterization by Waid.

Daredevil #12

As I've said, we're into the tail end of this run, and it's best ideas are used. This is fine and fun, and I'll read it to the end. Was a great Daredevil run. But I'm not going to miss it when that end comes.

Star Wars #1

Adequate. I'm not much of a Star Wars fan, but this is solidly written and paced. It seems to cover the same basic conceptual ground as Brian Wood's Star Wars series late in the Dark Horse license. But it's well done. I'm mostly sticking around because it's got a Kieron Gillen series to tie into, though.

Silver Surfer #8

I'm interested to see how this plays out, which is good for the first issue of a storyline, but equally, it's the sort of plot that tends to go very wrong for me when it goes wrong. Still, we're getting Michael Allred-drawn Galactus next issue, and that's exciting no matter how you slice it.

Stumptown #5

Good resolution on this. I'm excited to see more Stumptown - I'm glad it's returning in just a couple months this time. This is a book that's never really been allowed to take wing for Rucka, but that he should be very good at. The first arc still isn't soaring, but this is very much a book that has my attention.

Miles Morales: The Ultimate Spider-Man #9

I did not enjoy this two issue arc, although I at least respected this issue. Marquez has some cute Sienkiewicz riffs throughout, and the last few pages are golden, but it really felt awkward coming between the resolution of the Green Goblin arc and the Hydra stuff we're apparently doing next month. Still, this was a nice issue of the serial that is this book.

Lazarus #14

Another "nice issue of the serial that is this book issue, as the conclave plot comes to an interesting climax, with all of the characters being put in more exciting positions as a result of it. This can be a bit slow monthly, but it's never hard to pick up and follow, and you can tell it's going to be phenomenal in trade.

Batgirl #38

I'm really loving this book, and I'm glad the creators responded appropriately to the observations of transphobia in the previous issue. This is a very nice return to form.

Avengers #40

I love the decision to just brutally wrap up some plot lines here, in the middle of the "Time Runs Out" countdown. It's cruel and direct and savvily based on the plotting rhythms of comics. This is the point in the countdown where the initial excitement has flagged but Secret Wars still feels ages away, and Hickman made a great storytelling choice with it.

Supreme: Blue Rose #6

This book has just been Warren Ellis doing a Hickman riff, only more ambitiously and in a fraction the number of issues. Very, very clever and bold. I'm glad Ellis has and uses the freedom to make strange books like this.

Dolorous Hissings and Poisons (The Last War in Albion Part 79: Europe a Prophecy, Anarchy)

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This is the seventh of fifteen parts of The Last War in Albion Chapter Nine, focusing on Alan Moore's work on V for Vendetta for Warrior (in effect, Books One and Two of the DC Comics collection). An omnibus of all fifteen parts can be purchased at Smashwords. If you purchased serialization via the Kickstarter, check your Kickstarter messages for a free download code.

The stories discussed in this chapter are currently available in a collected edition, along with the eventual completion of the story. UK-based readers can buy it here.

Previously in The Last War in AlbionThe radical and anarchic spirit of V for Vendetta resembled that of William Blake, particularly in his Continental Prophecies, the second of which was Europe a Prophecy

"With dolorous hissings & poisons Round Enitharmons loins folding, Coild within Enitharmons womb The serpent grew casting its scales."- William Blake, The Book of Urizen

Figure 606: Vala hiding beneath the ground.
(William Blake, Europe a Prophecy, Copy K,
Object 4, Written 1794, printed 1821)
Vala opens Europe a Prophecy by railing against Enitharmon, asking her, “wilt thou bring forth other sons? To cause my name to vanish, that my place may not be found.” She speaks of how she, “sitting in fathomless abyss of my immortal shrine” looks up at heaven and the stars and seizes “their burning power” so she can “bring forth howling terrors, all devouring fiery kings. Devouring & devour’d roaming on dark and desolate mountains In forests of eternal death, shrieking in hollow trees.” But Enitharmon, she claims, foils her in this. “I bring forth from my teeming bosom myriads of flames,” she says, “and thou dost stamp them with a signet, then they roam abroad and leave me void as death.” But the prelude ends with a strange sense of hope, with the shadowy female asking “who shall bind the infinite with an eternal band? To compass it with swaddling bands? and who shall cherish it With milk and honey? I see it smile & I roll inward & my voice is past.” 

This prelude poses an interesting ambiguity, especially when taken in light of the remainder of Europe a Prophecy and, for that matter, of Blake’s mythology. Vala/the shadowy female is not generally a positive figure, but rather an embodiment of nature (itself a complex concept within Blake’s system), and a warlike death goddess. She speaks of her nature, saying “my roots are brandish’d in the heavens, my fruits in earth beneath Surge, foam, and labour into Life, first born & first consum’d! Consumed and consuming!” Ultimately, she will prove responsible for Albion’s fall. And yet it is difficult not to see her as a sympathetic figure in this exchange with Enitharmon - her revolutionary, destructive spirit is the obvious tonic to Urizen’s ghastly order. And it is worth stressing that it is Blake’s most famous image of Urizen, as the Ancient of Days, that serves as the frontispiece to Europe a Prophecy, a fact that further strengthen’s Vala’s moral legitimacy. 

Figure 607: The awakening of Orc. (William
Blake, Europe a Prophecy, Copy K, Object 9,
Written 1794, printed 1821)
Similarly, over the course of Europe a Prophecy, Enitharmon is far from a sympathetic figure. She awakens in “the deep of winter,” as Urizen flees to “the distant north” and “strong Urthona takes his rest.” In response, the Urizen’s children awaken Orc, vowing that “we will crown thy head with garlands of the ruddy vine.” (This passage also illustrates one of the extreme challenges of parsing and interpreting Blake’s work. The awakening of Orc comes within a passage that begins “The shrill winds wake! Till all the sons of Urizen look out and envy Los:”, the colon clearly indicating that what follows is a monologue delivered by the sons of Urizen, who speak of how “we may drink the sparkling wine of Los.” And yet this passage ends with a five-line stanza reading “Arize O Orc from thy deep den / First born of Enitharmon rise! / And we will crown thy head with garlands of the ruddy vine; / For now thou art bound; / And I may see the in the hour of bliss, my eldest born.” This last line, in the first person singular, cannot be spoken by the sons of Urizen, and must be either Los or Enitharmon, and yet at no point in the monologue is there any indication of a change in speaker. This sort of thing is alarmingly common in Blake. 

And yet despite this, the obvious assumption that Blake is somehow sloppy in his work simply does not hold - the meticulous attention to artistic detail and the painstaking, extensive revisions made to his work belie any account of his work that suggests that it is anything less than meticulous and precise. Rather, it is that it is a precise depiction of a worldview that rejects the idea of single vision - a sort of textual version of cubism in which a multiplicity of states of being are simultaneously described and depicted.) And so “the horrent Demon rose, surrounded with red stars of fire, whirling about in furious circles round the immortal fiend. Then Enitharmon down descended into his red light,” communing with Orc’s fearsome spirit. In the wake of America a Prophecy, with its ultimate rejection of Orc, this is an unsettling prospect to say the least.

Figure 608: One year after penning Europe a Prophecy Blake
used the phrase "The Night of Enitharmon's Joy" as a title for
a bespoke painting. (Butlin 316, 1795)
This communion with Orc brings about “the night of Enitharmon’s joy,” during which Enitharmon decides that  women will have dominion over the world. She sends her sons, Rintrah and Palambron, to “tell the human race that Womans love is Sin: That an Eternal life awaits the worms of sixty winters In an allegorical abode where existence hath never come: Forbid all Joy, & from her childhood shall the little female Spread nets in every secret path.” This commences a period of eighteen hundred years - a figure that reaches, essentially, from the birth of Christ to Blake’s present day - in which Enitharmon sleeps, and the world is captured within “a female dream.” This period is, to say the least, not a happy one. The council house in which Albions Angels assemble is destroyed, and the world plunges into materialism, with man being shackled by the five senses and the Angel having “turn’d the fluxile eyes Into two stationary orbs, concentrating all things. The ever-varying spiral ascents to the heavens of heavens were bended downwards; and the nostrils golden gates shut.” The infinite becomes a serpent, and pity becomes “a devouring flame” such that mankind flees and takes shelter “in forests of night” (a significant phrase, to say the least). The result is chilling: “God a tyrant crown’d.”

Figure 609: The Ancient of Days. (William
Blake, Europe a Prophecy, Copy K, Object 1,
created 1794, printed 1821)
This is the tyranny of Urizen implicitly foreshadowed by the frontispiece, leading to a world torn between Urizen’s tyrannical law and Orc’s violent upheaval. Blake describes a frantic struggle among Albion, Orc, and Urizen to seize and blow upon the trumpet that will bring about the last Judgment, but all fail. Instead “A mighty Spirit lea’d from the land of Albion, Nam’d Newton; he siez’d the Trump, & blow’d the enormous blast!” Newton, as ever, is an antagonistic figure within Blake’s work, representing, in his vision, an irrevocable turn towards Urizenic materialism, with “Newtons sleep” being the counterpart to dreaded “single vision.” His successful trumpeting of the horn of judgment reflects the awful state of the world after Enitharmon’s eighteen hundred year slumber. She calls upon her sons and daughters, who represent a complex and often debated set of viewpoints on sexual politics of the late eighteenth century the details of which Blake, in a 2014 seance, openly admits “were probably overly determined by the degree to which I wanted to sleep with women who weren’t my wife at the time.” (Numerous critics, it should be noted, directly associate Enitharmon with Blake’s wife, Catherine. Catherine, for her part, is an enormously complex figure in her own right deserving of considerable examination.) 

It is here worth pausing and clarifying the chronology of events in this cycle of Blake’s prophecies. Europe a Prophecy is, recall, the sequel to America a Prophecy. And yet over the course of Europe a Prophecy Blake retells a history of the entire Christian age of Europe, with this history emerging out of Enitharmon’s communion with Orc, the spirit of revolution unleashed and set upon Europe at the end of America a Prophecy. That poem, recall, was a symbolic reworking of the history of the American Revolution, and even that occurred, historically, near the end of the eighteen hundred year sleep of Enitharmon. And yet at its conclusion Europe returns to being a chronological and quasi-historical sequel to America, resolving with Orc launching another attack upon Urizen’s order of things: “terrible Orc, when he beheld the morning int he east, Shot from the heights of Enitharmon; And in the vineyards of red France appear’d the light of his fury.” With this, the French Revolution breaks out, Los returns and “reard in snaky thunders clad: And with a cry that shook all nature to the utmost pole, Call’d all his sons to the strife of blood.” This is a bold call for revolution, certainly, and a seemingly vocal embrace of the upheavals to England’s south. In this regard, at least, Blake and Moore are on the same page - the similarities between Orc and V’s twin campaigns of terror and insurrection are ultimately unavoidable. 

Figure 610: Like V for Vendetta, Europe a
Prophecy
 keeps a continual focus on the
material suffering of the oppressed population.
(William Blake, Copy K, Object 6, created 1794,
printed 1821)
And yet a revolution born of Orc has already been undermined by Blake, just as it would ultimately be rejected by Moore in Swamp Thing. Indeed, for all the revolutionary fire with which Blake’s continental prophecies so obviously burn, it is striking that Blake never actually endorses anything so crass as an actual political movement. There are some he holds in particular contempt, perhaps most obviously the entire apparatus of organized religion, which he associates with the hated Urizen and Newton. And yet the long reign of institutional Christianity and its failures are, within Europe, just as associated with Enitharmon. This further speaks to a certain perversity within Blake’s work - his decision to represent Christianity in terms of a feminine figure is visibly subversive, in a way that goes beyond any simple allegorical readings whereby, for instance, Enitharmon represents the feminine figures of Eve and Mary, embodying the classical virgin/whore complex embodied in the Kabbalistic image of Binah, which Moore describes as where “form becomes possible.” To link the entire history of Christianity with a goddess figure is, in a real sense, to reject it and propose something akin to his earlier nuptials between heaven and hell. And yet this subversive religion is also rejected, as is revolution, and everything else.

And so in the Continental Prophecies we have a an odd sort of revolution - what Moore, in Angel Passage, described, saying,  “voice suppressed, lips stitched, the vision has nowhere to turn save inwards.” But he could equally well have said that it was a revolution that had been pushed “to the very last inch of us,” where “it’s small and it’s fragile and it’s the only thing in the world that’s worth having. We must never lose it, or sell it, or give it away. We must never let them take it from us.” Which is all another way of saying that Blake, like Moore, was an anarchist. 

Figure 611: "Fear of a Black Flag" appeared
in the second issue of Dodgem Logic.
The precise meaning of this claim is, it must be admitted, a challenge to pin down. Moore himself traces the history of anarchism from ancient Greece through to the present day, and in a 2010 essay for Dodgem Logic entitled “Fear of a Black Flag,” offers a partial catalogue of the “bewildering profusion of anarchist subdivisions, categories and splinter movements with radically different views” including “Communist Anarchists, Free market Anarchists, Egoist Anarchists, Anarchists Green or Syndicalist, Post-Left or Feminist, Anarchists Insurrectionary or Pacifist. Then there’s Anarchy Without Adjectives which sounds entirely sensible despite the fact that the words ‘Without Adjectives’, used here as a descriptive phrase, are actually performing all the functions of an adjective.” When this diversity of viewpoint is extended historically, to try to encompass not just Moore’s own evolving views, preserved in amber in the earliest chapters of V for Vendetta and expounded, quite separately, nearly thirty years after the strip’s beginning in an underground magazine bearing the name of his own failed mid-seventies fanzine, but also the views of William Blake some two centuries earlier, it’s clear that any attempt at a rigorous philosophical position is going to be doomed before it gets off the ground/

Certainly Moore, in “Fear of a Black Flag,” declines to cast his lot with any explicitly named anarchist tradition. Instead he returns to first principles, noting that “as often proves to be the case with words, the Greens most definitely had one for it, in this case anarchos, meaning ‘without rulers’,” which is an accurate enough account of the word’s etymology. Moore, as befits his status as an autodidact regarding this philosophical tradition, ultimately ends the essay on the same note, describing the ancient Athenian process of sortition, “which is basically a type of government by lottery. In all decisions that concerned the state a jury would be randomly appointed from all parts of the community by drawing of straws or lots. This jury would then listen carefully to an informed debate presenting both sides of the argument, just as a jury does during a court case. After this a vote is taken on the matter and the jury is dissolved.” Moore muses on the advantages of this, noting that “no special interest groups or corporations can buy influence in the government if no one knows who government will be until the next time that the straws are drawn. No jury would be likely to vote in a set of special privileges for the jury, such as being able to claim back expenses on the paddocks for their unicorns, when they themselves would no longer be jurors when these perks were ushered in.” But for all that Moore praises this particular system, it is ultimately presented only as one of many similar proposals to emerge out of the millennia of anarchist thought that he summarizes.

Figure 612: Cromwell's New Model Army at the Battle of
Naseby.
This includes not just the ancient Greeks and Taoist Sages, but the word “anarchy” as a 1642 coinage within the English language, used to dismiss Oliver Cromwell’s New Model Army, along with Pierre-Joseph Proudhon’s nineteenth century idea of mutualism and Max Striner’s individualist anarchism from the same century. He turns also to Mikhail Bakunin’s Collectivist Anarchism, with was an important predecessor to Marxism, along with Peter Kropotkin’s rejection of private property, and, more contemporarily, Hakim Bey (who in addition to being an anarchist and pedophilia advocate was an open sorcerer, defining the concept as “the systematic cultivation of enhanced consciousness or non-ordinary awareness and its deployment in the world of deeds and objects to bring about desired results”). [continued]

Bye: The Doctors Revisited (Christopher Eccleston)

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It's surprising how easily this era slips into history. On the one hand, there is nothing being said here that was not said in DVD commentaries and Doctor Who Confidential ten years ago, often by the same people. And yet there is none of the breathless self-promotion of Confidential, which is what this most obviously resembles. The imminent, thrilling need to celebrate the basic existence of Doctor Who is absent. Just as the tail end of the classic series was drained of all its conflict, this is drained of all its triumph.

For those who remember what the Eccleston series actually felt like as it happened - that is, classic series fans - this is slightly disorienting. Eccleston is basically explained as "he was a Doctor for the 21st century and not quite what anyone expected." And yet the scenes shown are exactly the ones you'd expect, with no real oddities among them. In marked contrast to the McCoy era, where we spent bizarre amounts of time on Time and the Rani, here we get Eccleston's Emmy reel.

The issue, one quickly realizes, is that this is essentially the first time these set pieces of the "Doctor Who Season One as vital text in television history" argument have been done without Russell T Davies, who continued his politely silent 2013. And, of course, Eccleston is absent as well. As with the McGann episode, there's a hole in the middle of this narrative.

It is worth noting that there is actually some suspense at this point in time. This went out on September 29th, the day after it was announced that there would be a trailer soon for Day of the Doctor, but nearly two months after the announcement of Peter Capaldi. "What is Doctor Who these days" was an astonishingly relevant question, with, at that moment in time, essentially three Doctors besides the incumbent having some sort of active "what's going on with" question, one who'd never appeared, and one who'd only had a minute of speaking time.

The result was a historical moment where there was a past/present line on what Doctor Who was that Eccleston was exactly on the wrong side of. Which was at the time useful. Doctor Who was not a young series - it was already into season numbers well higher than most shows get, and it was at the time highly visible that it was a half-century old. Finding ways to justify calling your "this is where you should start watching" point as recent as possible mattered. So declaring Eccleston to be history was an easy decision to make.

And he's history by his own choosing, admittedly - we should remember that the entire landscape of Doctor Who would have looked different right now had Eccleston been in Day of the Doctor, or, at least, certainly this special would have. But no, right now the scale of Doctor Who is very much 2006-14. And all of this is bluntly literalized in the closing moments of Moffat's introduction to Bad Wolf/Parting of the Ways, when he mentions the fleeting appearance of David Tennant as a highlight.

Given this, the choice of stories is appreciated. There were only three candidates, since the timeslot is based on a classic series four-parter. They were never going to show Aliens of London/World War Three, which made it an either-or choice between Bad Wolf/Parting of the Ways and The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances. They decide to go for the Davies story, in all its glory. They let this era stand on its own terms, in other words. And it's similarly interesting to hear Moffat describe the "everybody lives" scene in terms of what it communicates, instead of in terms of its quality, in a way that reinforces the historicization by not subsequently colonizing it as a prototype of the present. Which speaks volumes, in the end. This is, perhaps, the most fundamental respect you can pay the Eccleston era - to trust it absolutely to stand on its own merits.

(An idiosyncratic observation - the clips from this that they choose include the "the Doctor tells the Daleks no" scene from Bad Wolf, and is cut to highlight the fact that when he does, all of the other characters in the scene do a simultaneous head-take, in the most gloriously artificial way imaginable.)

Saturday Waffling (January 17th, 2014)

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As we exit the season where it's an appropriate question, what were your favorite pieces of media of 2014? Films, TV shows, comics, books, music, video games, plays, whatever.

Regeneration: A Personal History of Doctor Who

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A planned guest post for today fell through at the last minute, and Anna Wiggins graciously stepped in to deliver her thoughts on Missy and trans issues, which is not really in chronological sequence, but again, the planned post fell through. And more to the point, it's brilliant, so really, who cares about chronology. This is a blog about time travel, dammit. 

Also! The fantastic folks at the Pex Lives podcast invited me on this month to talk about The Ribos Operation and Last Christmas. It was a hoot to record. I'm mostly just ranting and pontificating, but if you enjoy me spontaneously staking out excessively bold critical positions, you'll love this.

It is the summer of 1993. I am watching PBS, which is showing a weird old British sci-fi show that I enjoy watching whenever I catch it on. On screen, Romana (a character I like a lot) is trying on different bodies. It’s silly, and the Doctor is being kind of mean to her, (I don’t know to use the word sexist yet) but the idea of trying on a new body is amazing. In the most secret part of myself, I wish I could do that. I wish I could look like princess Astra.

It is the end of summer, 1998. I don’t want to be alive any more. In a couple of weeks, I will try to kill myself. I will slip outside in the middle of the night, walk several miles into the woods down trails only I know about, to a clearing I spend a lot of time hiding in. I will take the razor blade on my swiss army knife and try to cut my wrist open. But the blade won’t be sharp enough, and the pain and shock of seeing my own blood will stop me before I go too far.

I will spend the next ten years feeling like a coward. I will regret failing. I will think often about trying again.

It is April of 2010. A new friend of mine is in town, and is talking about how great the new Doctor Who is. He suggests I watch it some time. My hazy, pleasant memories of Mary Tamm and Lalla Ward help make his case, and a few weeks later I marathon series 1 with my husband. I am hooked, and catch up just after series 5 ends.

It is May 14th, 2011. The Doctor’s Wife is on TV. Neil Gaiman just used some throwaway dialogue to casually write in the possibility of time lords changing gender when they regenerate. The exact dialogue is a bit irksome, but I don’t care; this is huge and affirming and very clearly a challenge for the showrunners to live up to. I’m thrilled about this. Exactly one month ago, I legally changed my name to Anna Rose Wiggins.

It is August 4th, 2013. I am watching a live stream of the Peter Capaldi announcement. The last few weeks have been interesting for me, because this is the first regeneration I’ve been an active fan for. There’s been a lot of speculation, discussion, and debate about the possibility that the next doctor could be a woman. I don’t know whether past versions of this debate have been as heated as this, but I imagine The Doctor’s Wife certainly added fuel to the fire. I’m a little disappointed when the next Doctor proves to be some old white guy I’m not familiar with. A quick browse of IMDB suggests he’s at least going to be interesting, though.

It is August 23rd, 2014. Finally, we get to see Capaldi in action, and he doesn’t disappoint. Deep Breath is satisfying on a number of levels, but the stand-out moment for me is the introduction of Missy, who is obviously (to me) a new regeneration of the Master. Finally, an on-screen example of a Time Lord changing gender. I can’t wait for the season finale and inevitable reveal, and this immediately becomes the most engaging season of Doctor Who for me so far. The stakes are personally high for me; the parallels to trans experience are obvious, and a tone-deaf approach to this will be worse than not having done it at all. I try not to hope for too much; I’ve been disappointed too many times.

It is November 8th, 2014. I am homesick, in the middle of a 2 week work trip to California, and just watched Death in Heaven, and I’m pleasantly surprised. The parallels to transgender experience were handled with more grace than most media that is explicitly about trans people.. The Doctor avoids misgendering her, even when talking about the past. The Mistress is every bit the over-the-top scheming villain she’s always been; they don’t tone down anything, they don’t make her feel like a different character. She follows logically from John Simm’s performance. I temporarily forget how lonely and homesick I am, because I am too excited by the writing in this episode.

Over the next week or so, I come across a lot of reviews and discussions that are very critical of these episodes. There are a few arguments that stand out to me, although I don’t engage in the debates at the time.

One common argument goes something like this: “After decades of sexual tension between the Doctor and the Mistress, why is it that there is no acknowledgment of this until they become a heterosexual pairing?” And, well, that’s a good point, and ultimately it comes down to “because heteronormativity.”

But I want a better reading than that, and luckily, there’s one available. So in my own head, at least, the Mistress is, well, like me. She has always been a woman. She has secretly hoped, in the deepest part of her mind that she seldom even allows herself to look at, for a feminine body, every time she regenerated. And with a masculine body, she just doesn’t feel comfortable with sex or romance. It raises uncomfortable feelings. It is too complicated. And so she hopes, and when it does happen, she finally feels like she can express the things that have always stayed unspoken. Of course, she is still who she is, still a villain. Her affection is still reflected in a cracked mirror. But here, at least, is a partial explanation, a view into some of the pain that warped how she sees the world.

Another argument is that ‘Master’ is not necessarily a gendered title, and so there was no need for the new name. But, expanding on my little headcanon above… the thing about gender-neutral names and titles is that they still carry a whiff of ‘male by default’, and for a lot of trans women, that has bad associations. The Mistress changed her name because it felt affirming, because it was a choice that reinforced her identity. (As for the statement I’ve seen more than once, “what, are they going to call a female version of the Doctor the Nurse?” I invite anyone who thinks that to say it in front of our host’s wife. Protip: wear plate armor.)

And the last argument I want to bring up is that the Mistress’ regeneration should have reflected the lived experience of real-world trans people more; that it is unrealistic for her gender identity to conveniently line up with whatever her body’s shape is. There are a number of problems with this. If you accept my reading (and I encourage you to) then the Mistress was already feeling gender dysphoria, and this is the first regeneration where she finally feels right. This isn’t particularly reflected in the text, but at the same time, very few people had any clue I was experiencing gender dysphoria before I decided to transition. People don’t always wear everything on their sleeves, and there’s no inherent reason not to extend that to fictional characters when it makes those characters more interesting or relatable.

But even if you reject my reading, this is still a weak argument. Because regeneration has become a metaphor for the way our identities, our understanding of ourselves, change over time. And we only see glimpses of the Mistress. She isn’t the protagonist. Of course there’s a lot of context missing.

And even more than that, one of the key advantages of fantasy is that we can choose to explore things like gender identity in a somewhat idealized way. Gender dysphoria in reality is brutal, and our culture reinforces it, makes it worse, makes it deadly. I’ve seen enough of that in my life, it’s nice to have a bit of escapist fantasy. “She realized that she wanted to be a woman, and so she became one. End of story.” It gives us something to daydream about.

I find myself thinking back to my earliest memories of the show, wishing I could try on bodies like Romana. I was sad at the time, because even if I could regenerate, it didn’t seem like I could change from a boy into a girl. Missy gives me hope. Not just because she makes a female Doctor an inevitability, but because she means that somewhere, a little trans girl might watch Doctor Who and think “maybe I can do that too.” No, this plot arc won’t cure self-doubt and internalized transphobia. But it’s a step in the right direction, one piece of media that is affirming instead of critical.

And the truth is, we *can* regenerate. It takes longer, but sometimes, when the pain is twisting and cracking us, we can change our bodies until they begin to feel alright. It doesn’t undo the damage, but it can keep us from breaking completely. Time Lord technology, right here on Earth.


(This post was inspired, in part, by Chase Harvey's Properly Suppressing Your Gender Dysphoria)

The Sign of Three

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This post is one of those supported by my backers on Patreon. If you can spare a dollar a week to help keep this blog running past the end of TARDIS Eruditorum, it would be greatly appreciated. 

"These tales of ratiocination owe most of their popularity to being something in a new key. I do not mean to say that they are not ingenious — but people think them more ingenious than they are — on account of their method and air of method. In the “Murders in the Rue Morgue”, for instance, where is the ingenuity of unravelling a web which you yourself (the author) have woven for the express purpose of unravelling? The reader is made to confound the ingenuity of the supposititious Dupin with that of the writer of the story." - Edgar Allen Poe

The basic dramatic engine of Sherlock, by this point, has become the cathartic click as the puzzle box's mechanisms slide into place in a moment of triumphant Aristoteleanism. Over ninety minutes, this produces an interesting effect. Because ninety minutes is also more or less your basic length for a film, there is a tendency to describe Sherlock in those terms - as periodic triptychs of Sherlock Holmes films. With two thirds of the episodes set as event episodes (that is, premieres or finales), it's easy to get swept up in this.

Nevertheless, Sherlock is unmistakably television. The Sign of Three is a prime example - it is well aware that it has no obligation to make a stirring case for its scale and scope. Its end is a self-consciously subdued homage to The Green Death, it contains not a single overt tease of Magnusson. It is confident that people who are watching it will probably do so again in a week, and so does not engage in the sort of sprawling, ambitious cliffhanger that films (and, to be fair, series finales) do to hold interest over the course of months and years.

Perhaps more importantly, it shares Doctor Who's willingness to push against traditional dramatic structures. If one pauses Sherlock to ask "how much time is left,"one is almost always slightly surprised - the big plot beats never happen at quite the moment they're scheduled. The dramatic climax of The Sign of Three comes a full ten minutes from the end, which isn't unheard of, except that the last ten minutes are all quite subdued and tension free, as opposed to an exploration of the consequences of the climax or setup for something else. The plot is based around a pair of extended flashbacks that don't seem connected to each other or the larger episode until the end. Instead there's the continual anticipation of resolution - of the moment where things slot into place and the seemingly disjointed plotting is suddenly revealed as the precise clockwork of dramatic unity.

The Sign of Three, in other words, shows Sherlock as a well-oiled machine. Sherlock's best man speech - contributed largely (and obviously) by Moffat - is a marvel. As a high concept premise for an episode it is, of course, outright genius. "Sherlock gives a best man speech" is the sort of thing that, upon hearing, one immediately wants to see happen. And Moffat is predictably adept at moving from moments of comedic flailing and genuine emotion. "If I didn’t understand I was being asked to be best man, it is because I never expected to be anybody’s best friend" is a spotless turn, as is the initial resolution of the Bloody Guardsman case, with the observation that John saved a life instead of solving a crime.

(It is actually probably worth detouring briefly to cover the matter of Moffat's contribution to the script, in that it's a credited contribution. One does not entirely imagine that this is the first script Moffat has done rewrites on for Doctor Who or Sherlock, but nevertheless, it is the first time he's been credited, and in hindsight it appears to have been the start of a trend, with him taking a cowriting credit on three episodes of Doctor Who in 2014 as well. In the general case, reports have suggested that Moffat has performed his editing duties with a lighter touch than Davies, giving script notes where Davies would perform rewrites. This certainly wasn't exclusively the case, but there was a sense of Moffat having considerably less to do with scripts that his name wasn't on than Davies had.

So taking a co-writing credit here served as a tacit suggestion that Moffat was taking a more active hand on Sherlock than he had. It made a strong claim that the middle episode was no longer the "unimportant" one. Yes, The Hound of Baskerville was clearly an improvement on The Blind Banker in that regard, in that it was at least an adaptation of a major and iconic Sherlock Holmes story, but between this actually having a major event in it vis-a-vis John's wedding and the fact that Moffat and Gatiss took writing credits on it, this felt more substantial. It's also worth noting that this was explicitly and deliberately the purpose of Davies taking the co-writing credit on Planet of the Dead and The Waters of Mars.)

But what's really interesting is what happens once the conclusion begins. There are a lot of moving parts to this puzzle box that get picked up later - two cases, Major Sholto, and Mary's pregnancy are all subjects of conclusions. but this, especially given what happens to Mary in the actual Doyle stories, makes the subdued last ten minutes oddly stressful, not least because of a couple of shots that serve to highlight the way in which Mary's wedding dress is tight around the abdomen, which leaves a constant lingering sense that this is all going to resolve with Mary suddenly collapsing in a pool of blood, such that the low key ending of Sherlock leaving the wedding is a strange sort of finish, with the cut to credits feeling more like a reprieve than anything else.

This, of course, is a key piece of setup, as the end of the season is going to turn heavily on the question of who Mary is, and, more importantly, what role she's going to have in the larger narrative. This is, of course, familiar territory for Moffat, who has been poking at and deconstructing the sort of plot that would emerge from John being violently widowed ever since A Good Man Goes to War. And much of The Sign of Three, in hindsight, is about setting that up. The warmth between Sherlock and Mary, and the way in which she integrates smoothly into John and Sherlock's life is too pronounced for this to actually go in the direction teased. Other writers might make a character this good just to kill her, but Moffat?

And yet the most interesting question - what he's going to do next - remains opaque. There are teases without substance - the invocation of the next episode's title, most obviously. But there's no actual substance to them - just a sense that, over the course of these ninety minutes, the scope of what Sherlock can do as a show has changed.

Which makes the extent to which The Sign of Three is very much a display of "the sort of things Sherlock does well" an idiosyncratic but compelling virtue. This is an episode of Sherlock you can basically hand to anybody and say "this is why the show is good," which, given that there are only nine of them and the first one is also brilliant, is not necessarily something it needed in 2014, but nevertheless something that's worth doing periodically, especially for a show that burns this bright and brief in a given season. And yet by the end, after this episode's fire is extinguished, the remaining calx is something difficult and ever so slightly unsettling. We've made a big dramatic mission statement about the nature of mysteries in Sherlock. We've done a warm and funny episode that pushes the series' most obvious virtues to the forefront. All that remains is the main event - the season finale by the show's marquee writer. And the job it has to do is both simple and massive: be nothing like anyone would have guessed.

Comics Reviews (January 21st, 2015)

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Worst to best.

Moon Knight #11

One of the most pointlessly decompressed comics I think I have ever read. All the optimism I had when the very cool twist of someone stealing Khonshu from Marc Spector has thoroughly evaporated in the face of this.

All-New X-Men #35

So, next month issue #38 of this ties in with the not-very-interesting sounding Black Vortex, which does rather make one wonder what the release schedule of this is meant to look like. I can only assume that this Ultimate Universe crossover arc was not, in fact, intended to stretch out past the announcement of how Secret Wars would be working such that it was drained of all its excitement, and that this was not meant to become the exercise in "dear god is this arc still going on" that it's become. Oh well.

Fables #148

It says very little good about this exercise in "oh god why have I bought over 150 comics called Fables in my lifetime" that the story of Lauda, which has very little to do with anything else in the plot, is by miles the best thing going on in the issue.

Amazing Spider-Man #13

This has lost some momentum from an exciting start, but has at least gained some of it back for the finish. I have to say, though, the Uncle Ben stuff feels like it was introduced far too late in the game to have the impact that the story seems to want from it. I just can't bring myself to get that invested in the personal struggles of an alternate universe Uncle Ben, and the conceit of "he blames his own honorable nature for everything going wrong" is, while clever, just not doing it for me. I absolutely do not look forward to his inevitable heroic sacrifice next issue.

Captain American and the Mighty Avengers #4

This finally settles into being the book it wants to be, with Ewing getting to do his take on Sam Wilson as Captain America, as opposed to Sam Wilson as evil. It's a promising book. I wish this had gotten to be the first issue. Still, four months to enjoy this before Secret Wars comes and fucks everything up again, I guess?

Guardians of the Galaxy #23

A few pages into its last issue, Planet of the Symbiotes reaches the planet of the symbiotes. I am to some extent reviewing past issues here, but I'm at a genuine loss for why we spent two near-identical issues fighting in space instead of just letting this be a two issue arc like it really wanted to be. Still, love the final page cliffhanger.

Doctor Who: The Eleventh Doctor #7

An extremely compelling first half of a two-part story, with some excellent plot twists for Alice and some compelling mysteries for the other characters. I love the Eternal Dogfight, and there's some excellent Eleven-specific beats in this. Continues to be the best Doctor Who comic ever.

Loki: Agent of Asgard #10

This promised to finally pay off the long-simmering consequences of Kieron Gillen's landmark Journey into Mystery run, and it does so in spades, carefully and meticulously dooming Loki in a fascinating way. The final page is a doozy. I can't wait for the next issue.

The Wicked & The Divine #7

Something of a "continue putting pieces in place" issue, with a not entirely clearly motivated side trip to the underground with Baphomet that ends up feeling like a big drop in momentum. I'm sure this will all tie together in a few issues and make more sense, but, to stay in the pop idiom of this book, it feels like we're in the gap between two big singles. You can see what this has added to the story - Woden, in particular, is fascinating. And I assume the Prometheus Gambit will get better paid off at some point. But this is still a slightly interstitial issue.

Uber #21

Fantastic cliffhanger, another one of the book's satisfying switches into "history textbook" narration for the big fight scene, and, all in all, another solid installment of one of the best and most thoroughly disturbing comics out there.

Crossed +100 #2

Moore continues to develop his themes. The central mystery here - what are the altars - is beautifully small, and Moore is doing interesting things with the Crossed themselves - the infection depicted in this installment is suitably unnerving. This is thus far devoid of any ostentatious flare, but is still intelligent and nuanced and exploring interesting ground. It continues to be an absolute pleasure to have this coming out.

A Wishful Past, All Jungled Over (The Last War in Albion Part 80: Anarchism, Inspiration, Guy Fawkes)

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This is the eighth of fifteen parts of The Last War in Albion Chapter Nine, focusing on Alan Moore's work on V for Vendetta for Warrior (in effect, Books One and Two of the DC Comics collection). An omnibus of all fifteen parts can be purchased at Smashwords. If you purchased serialization via the Kickstarter, check your Kickstarter messages for a free download code.

The stories discussed in this chapter are currently available in a collected edition, along with the eventual completion of the story. UK-based readers can buy it here.

Previously in The Last War in AlbionOne of the major themes of V for Vendetta is the idea of anarchism, a philosophical movement Moore eventually described in some detail in an essay for Dodgem Logic, in which he listed various historical forms of the concept.

"Sounds like a wishful past, all jungled over, a heroic run and the what-for of everything fuck simple."-Alan Moore, Crossed +100

Figure 613: William Godwin
He turns also to Mikhail Bakunin’s Collectivist Anarchism, with was an important predecessor to Marxism, along with Peter Kropotkin’s rejection of private property, and, more contemporarily, Hakim Bey (who in addition to being an anarchist and pedophilia advocate was an open sorcerer, defining the concept as “the systematic cultivation of enhanced consciousness or non-ordinary awareness and its deployment in the world of deeds and objects to bring about desired results”). But for the purposes of understanding Blake, perhaps the most important thinker Moore touches upon is William Godwin, whose Political Justice, in Moore’s account, advocated “that the individual act according to his or her individual judgement while allowing every single other individual the same liberty.”

Figure 614: One of Blake's illustrations
for Mary Wollstonecraft's Original Stories
from Real Life
. (1791)
Political Justice, more properly titled Enquiry Concerning Political Justice and its Influence on Morals and Happiness, was published in 1793, the same year as America a Prophecy, and Godwin and Blake traveled in similar circles - Blake did a series of illustrations for Godwin’s future wife Mary Wollstonecraft’s Original Stories from Real Life in 1791, for instance. (Godwin and Wollstonecraft’s daughter, also named Mary, would go on to have a significant career of her own, largely under her married name, acquired from “Ozymandias” poet Percy Bysshe Shelley.) Blake followed Godwin no more than he did any other man, but the intellectual similarities are clear enough.

Figure 615: The cover for the third issue
of The Northampton Arts Group Magazine,
featuring an iteration of Alan Moore's concept
for "the Doll." (c. 1973)
For Moore’s part, at least in terms of V for Vendetta, the most obvious anarchist to mention is Colin Ward, whose Anarchy in Action was first published in 1973, when Moore was working with the Northampton Arts Group, putting out zines while writing spoken word pieces like “Old Gangsters Never Die,” submitting a doomed proposal for “a freakish terrorist in white-face make-up who traded under the name of the Doll and waged war upon a totalitarian state sometime in the late 1980s” to future Starblazer publisher DC Thomson, dreaming up his sci-fi epic Sun Dodgers and the character of Five, “a mental patient of undefined but unusual abilities who had been kept in a particular room, room five,” and meeting Phyllis Dixon, who he quickly married the next year. Ward offers a summary of anarchist thought on a wealth of issues, including specific topics like housing and education, packaged as anavuncular sales pitch. (His preface begins, “how would you feel if you discovered that the society in which you would really like to live was already here, apart from a few little, local difficulties like exploitation, war, dictatorship, and starvation?”) Certainly Ward’s thought coincides with Moore’s in plenty of places - his blunt summary of the contemporary education system as being akin to that of ancient Sparta - “training for infantry warfare and for instructing the citizens in the techniques for subduing the slave class,” is easy enough to parallel with Moore’s condemnation of his own education as a curriculum of “punctuality, obedience, and the acceptance of monotony,” just as his declaration that anarchist theories of education are based on “respect for the learner” parallels Moore’s observation that anarchism would require that people “be educated to a point where they were able to direct their own lives without interfering in the lives of other people.”

But ultimately, Moore, like Blake, is not one to lay out anything so banal as a singular policy proposal, or to endorse a specific ideology. Indeed, to do so would ultimately be contrary to what he was trying to accomplish. In numerous interviews, Moore has described the philosophical foundation of V for Vendetta as coming out of his belief that “the two poles of politics were not Left Wing or Right Wing. In fact they're just two ways of ordering an industrial society and we're fast moving beyond the industrial societies of the 19th and 20th centuries. It seemed to me the two more absolute extremes were anarchy and fascism.” And fascism’s central premise, as Moore puts it in V for Vendetta, is “strength in unity.” And so presenting a singular, clearly followable template of beliefs for others to follow would end up on the exact opposite end of the spectrum from where he wants to be. As he put it in a later interview, while talking about anarchy and fascism, “I don't necessarily want anybody to believe the same things I believe.” And Blake’s refusal to offer any straightforwardly positive alternative can be taken in largely the same vein.

Instead, anarchism can in many ways be described more as an aesthetic. Certainly that’s the sense that Moore gives at the start of “Fear of a Black Flag,” where he describes the associations of the word anarchy: “men in capes and broad-brimmed hats clutching black bowling balls with fizzing fuses and the helpful legend BOMB scrawled on the side in white emulsion,” “a Hieronymus Bosch landscape populated by looters, berserkers, giants with leaking boats for feet and eggshells for a body,” and “an ultra-violent and demented version of Spy vs. Spy, adapted from a screenplay by Rasputin and the Unabomber.” These are not ideological principles, but images, not unlike the quotations and movie posters that make up so much of V’s initial characterization.

Figure 616: The first page of Moore's essay
explaining the development of V for Vendetta.
This highlights another key similarity between Europe a Prophecy and V for Vendetta, which is that both were eventually augmented with writers’ statements answering, as Moore puts in his (an essay entitled “Beyond the Painted Smile” that saw print in Warrior #17, the March 1984 issue of the magazine, between Chapters Five and Six of V for Vendetta, but written in October 1983, the month Chapter Two was published), the question asked “at every convention or comic mart or work-in or signing” by some “nervous and naive young novice,” namely “where do you get your ideas from?”

In Blake’s equivalent statement (a four-stanza poetic plate added as Object 3 to Europe a Prophecy Copy H, one of two copies made in 1795, a year after first publication, and retained in Copy K, the must lushly coloured of them, printed in 1821) he tells how “a Fairy mocking as he sat on a streak’d Tulip” attracted his attention by singing a song about how “Five windows light the cavern’d Man; thro’ one he breathes the air; / Thro’ one, hears music of the spheres; thro’ one, the eternal vine / Flourishes, that he may reieve the grapes; thro’ one can look. / And see small portions of the eternal world that ever groweth; / Thro’ one, himself pass out what time he please, but he will not; / For stolen joys are sweet, & bread eaten in secret pleasant.” Blake snuck up on the Fairy and caught him in his hat, thus binding the fairy to his service in the manner of such things. 

Figure 617: Blake's statement explaining the development
of Europe a Prophecy (Copy K, Object 3, written 1795, printed
1821)
Blake then proceeded to ask the Fairy a rather idiosyncratic question: “what is the material world, and is it dead?” The Fairy laughed, and said, “I will write a book on leaves of flowers, / If you will feed me on love-thoughts, & give me now and then / A cup of sparkling poetic fancies; so when I am tipsie, / I’ll sing to you this soft lute; and shew you all alive / The world, when every particle of dust breathes forth its joy.” Blake obliged, gathering flowers as he walked with the Fairy, and as they did the Fairy showed him each one and “laugh’d aloud to see them whimper because they were pluck’d,” hanging around Blake “like a cloud of incense.” Blake went inside, took out a pen, and the “Fairy sat upon the table, and dictated EUROPE.” (When asked in 2014 whether this account was actually true, Blake sardonically replied, “as true as this answer is.”) 

Moore’s explanation, on the other hand, is a detailed account of the collaborative process between himself and artist David Lloyd as they refined ideas for the 1930s mystery story commissioned by Dez Skinn for the forthcoming Warrior. And yet for all that this appears, on the surface, the simpler and more straightforward explanation, it is in another a far thornier one. Europe a Prophecy came wholly formed, dictated by a fairy, its entirety explicable by that one act, uncanny as it may be. But V for Vendetta had an enormously complex history that was the result of months of refining ideas and throwing new ones into the hopper. Moore mentions dozens of influences over the course of “Behind the Painted Smile,” each of which in turn has a branching root system of causes and influences, all of which exist alongside other sources to which V for Vendetta self-evidently owes considerable debt and their own webs of influences and precedents.

Nevertheless, the question of how this object came to be is unavoidable. It is, after all, one of the twin plastic smiles that form the bulk of Moore’s direct political impact upon the world. It is the work that would go on to be directly and consciously appropriated to provide a symbol employed by anarchist and countercultural protest groups on a global scale. It has a strong case, of all of the spells cast in the course of the War, of being the one that would go on to have the single greatest impact. And of the spells cast, it is the one whose influences are, perhaps, the purest. Its characters are original creations of Moore and Lloyd. For all the influences that exist, it is unlike, say, Moore’s run on Swamp Thing, where he worked primarily with existing creations. It also dates to such an early point in Moore’s career that it can legitimately be said to bear little to no influence from the rest of the War. The only major combatant to have done any work predating V for Vendetta is Morrison, whose work Moore almost certainly had not seen when he began work. Moore’s work was not yet informed by his growing sense of mistrust towards the comics industry - he was still nothing more than another jobbing freelancer trying to get out of a banal and dead-end job. V for Vendetta, in other words, is simply the product of two British men in their late twenties/early thirties who wanted to make a living doing comics. To understand anything that subsequently happened in the War, then, it is necessary to understand that process.

In Moore’s telling, as mentioned, it was very much David Lloyd’s idea to model V’s visual look upon Guy Fawkes, after spending some time trying more conventional designs. At the time Lloyd hit on the idea, the current idea was modeled after police uniforms (at the time it was thought V might have infiltrated the police force). As Moore describes it, “it had a big ‘V’ on the front formed from the belts and straps attached to the uniform, and while it looked nice, I think both Dave and I were uneasy about falling into such a straightforward super-hero cliché.” Certainly the Guy Fawkes image was more visually striking, but its import goes beyond that. Upon reading it, “all of the various fragments in my head suddenly fell into place, united behind the single image of a Guy Fawkes mask.” Clearly Lloyd had hit upon something substantial.

Figure 618: Guy Fawkes as depicted by George
Cruikshank in an illustration for William Harrison
Ainsworth's Guy Fawkes; or, The Gunpowder
Treason
 (1841)
And yet Guy Fawkes himself is hardly a promising figure for what Moore was trying to accomplish with V for Vendetta. Yes, he did notably try to blow up the Houses of Parliament, but his reasons for doing so and his larger plan are hardly ones Moore would sympathize with. Fawkes, simply put, was a militant Catholic who wanted to assassinate King James I and make England a Catholic nation again, undoing Henry VIII’s foundation of the Church of England. Fawkes converted to Catholicism in his teenage years following the death of his father and his mother’s remarriage to a Catholic, and in 1591, at the age of twenty-one, relocated to the continent, fighting for Spain in the Eighty Years War against the breakaway Dutch Republic. He was among the soldiers at the 1596 Siege of Calais, and by 1603 was being viewed as officer material. At this point he adopted the Italian equivalent of his name, rebranding himself Guido Fawkes, and traveled to Spain to seek King Philip III’s support for a Catholic rebellion in England following the 1603 ascension of King James and union of the Scottish and English Crowns. 

Figure 619: Guy Fawkes and his co-conspirators as depicted by Crispijn van
de Passe
At this time the fines levied against practicing Catholics were a significant source of income for England, and James was emphatic in his denunciations of Catholics, especially after his discovery that the pope had secretly sent a rosary to his wife. The resulting crackdown included the expulsion of all Catholic priests from the country and a stepping up in enforcement of the fines, leading to considerable discontent among Catholics. Among those unhappy was Robert Catesby, who began recruiting co-conspirators for a plot against the king. Among the first of these was his cousin, Thomas Wintour, who traveled to Spain in early 1604, where he met Fawkes and recruited him into the plot, returning with him to England in April of 1604. 

Figure 620: Guy Fawkes being captured by Thomas Knyvet,
as depicted by Henry Perronet Briggs (1823)
The core of Catesby’s plan was to blow up the Houses of Parliament during its opening, killing the bulk of Parliament and James I at the same time. This was to coincide with the incitement of a revolt in the Midlands, and with the kidnapping of the Princess Elizabeth, who lived in Warwick and was thus conveniently positioned for the Midlands-based conspirators to pop over and kidnap. Elizabeth was eventually to be installed on the throne to serve as a Catholic monarch. Fawkes, as the participant with the most military experience, was placed in charge of managing the explosives, which were steadily smuggled into a cellar beneath the Houses of Parliament. An outbreak of plague delayed the opening of Parliament from February 1605 to October, and then, subsequently, to the fifth of November, 1605. This, however, proved sufficient delay that an anonymous letter ended up tipping off James I to the conspiracy, and he tasked Lord Chamberlain Thomas Howard with conducting an exhaustive search of the Houses of Parliament. These uncovered Fawkes beside a pile of firewood, which he managed to explain away. A second search headed by Thomas Knyvet in the early hours of November 5th, however, uncovered Fawkes in his famous cloak and hat, and arrested him, foiling the plot. 

It is not that this is entirely unsympathetic. Fawkes himself was a Catholic supremacist, but he fit into the same centuries-long tradition of religious dissidence in England that would eventually produce William Blake. And as David Lloyd noted, the basic cheek of trying to blow up Parliament is rather appealing.

Hey, Turn That Down: The Doctors Revisited (David Tennant)

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At last, we reach the end of history, with an episode that is set up to, basically, repeat the same talking points about the Tenth Doctor that were being used when he was still on screen. This is as straightforward as it is possible to be - an unabashed display case for an era of Doctor Who that everybody knows is a classic.

Which, fair enough. There's really no getting around the fact that the Tennant era was wildly popular, and that Tennant is always going to be one of the iconic portrayals of the Doctor. There are no apologias to make, and as of 2013, at least, the Tennant era hadn't slipped into history, not least because Tennant was going to be making a return in less than a month anyway, with no explanation of why he looked older or anything like that necessary. There was, really, no other way to do this.

That said, the selection of what to focus on is interesting. Noticeably absent is any standing in the rain. There's a little bit of the Bad Wolf Bay scene from Doomsday, but for the most part the two iconic emotional scenes from Tennant's era, the departures of Rose and Donna, are entirely skipped over. This is even more striking given that Martha's departure is featured in detail. There's no mention of Human Nature/Family of Blood either. In other words, all the moments of Tennant's Doctor being pushed to extremes are skipped.

Instead we get a focus on Tennant in default mode. There are sizeable clips from The Sontaran Stratagem and The Idiot's Lantern, both of which are fine scenes, but which would appear on almost nobody's instinctive list of major David Tennant scenes. To some extent, this demonstrates the level of confidence that they clearly have in the material: nobody is trying to sell David Tennant. Indeed, it's somewhat refreshing to look at him in these scenes. Tennant's best scenes are indeed extraordinary, but it's easy to forget that he was also extraordinarily good at just being a foundation for the show to build on.

This also gets at the closest thing to a problem with this episode, however. For all its confidence, it shares the Peter Davison episode's strange failure to actually ever describe what this iteration of the Doctor is actually like. Loads of talking heads are ready to line up and, quite rightly, say how wonderful David Tennant is, but nobody can actually nail down what his Doctor was like and why he was so iconic. Perhaps it's simply too soon, but either way, it's a glaring omission.

The other strange thing is the story chosen. It's not that it's a poor choice - indeed, there may be no story quite so Tennanty as The Stolen Earth/Journey's End. But the story notably, gets no coverage in the episode itself, unlike the previous few, which took pains to get the viewer up to speed on what they were going to watch. This works fine - really, who needs a substantial introduction to the most popular Doctor Who story ever? But it does mean that Moffat is, in effect, the only way into the story.

And so it's notable that Moffat breaks from the norm in The Doctors Revisited and opts to frame The Stolen Earth/Journey's End in terms of the writer as opposed to in terms of the actor. He describes it straightforwardly, as a celebration of the Davies era, and, more importantly, as a deserved celebration. The position is hardly a shock - Moffat has always, after all, been unhesitating in his praise for Davies. But the explicit acknowledgement, not just of the era's quality, but of the creative force behind it is a significant but revealing fact: as much as we have, by 2013, firmly moved past the Davies era, it remains, creatively, utterly and completely in his debt.

Saturday Waffling (January 24th, 2015)

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As we find ourselves increasingly adrift from when it was an appropriate question, what were your favorite pieces of media of 1994? Films, TV shows, comics, books, music, video games, plays, whatever.

Dear Santa: The Doctors Revisited (Matt Smith)

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You can tell that we've reached the present day quite early on, not least because Matt Smith suddenly shows up to have opinions on the show, having not been interviewed about any of his predecessors. But the real giveaway is the choices of episodes in the first segment, when introducing the character of the Eleventh Doctor. Every previous episode displayed a strong bias towards the earliest episodes for a Doctor. Whereas this pulls almost entirely from Season 7B, unabashedly positioning this as the present day of Doctor Who.

Yes, we eventually look back a few years and do the Ponds, which is somewhat historicized, but there's no added insight to be had. These are the same talking points from Doctor Who Confidential and endless publicity interviews, dutifully trotted out again. Their context is only altered by the preceding ten episodes of this, which serve to make all of this look like the telos of Doctor Who itself.

With the historical perspective that a year allows us, this is not quite true. The focus on how Matt Smith, while the youngest actor ever to play the part, makes the Doctor seem old is a common talking point, and indeed was brought up in relation to the Capaldi casting, by this time long since announced. More interesting is the segment on Clara, which came at a point where she was widely viewed as a frightfully generic companion. There's not a lot, but it's acutely clear that Coleman in particular sees more depth in the character, and has ideas for what to do with her. The argument that Deep Breath doesn't constitute a soft reboot of Clara but rather the moment when everybody started seeing what was always there has some solid support here.

Elsewhere, we can also see how this is quietly setting up the immediate future. There's not much that directly tees up The Day of the Doctor, but the features on Madame Kovarian, the Silence, and the Weeping Angels quietly serve as a primer for Time of the Doctor. And, of course, there's the fact that when this aired, Smith was a lame duck Doctor. His successor had been announced, and indeed, was either a week off from his debut or had debuted yesterday (depending on whether you watched this in the US or the UK - this was the only one to debut first in the UK).

And so there's an odd dualism here. On the one hand, this does what one always suspected it would: presents the Moffat era as the ultimate in Doctor Who. Of course it does. The point of all of these sorts of specials is promotion of the show, and has been since Confidential. But on the other, it leads the show right up to the brink of a known transition. There's a triumph as we reach the present, but also, and in some ways more importantly, a sort of "right, on to the next half-century" attitude. Which is a good place to be after fifty years.

His Last Vow

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There is, I think, a real case to be made that this is Moffat's best-ever script, although to be fair there are ways in which it's difficult to tell. Certainly this is elevated tremendously by the work of everyone else involved. It is ridiculous to pretend that this episode can be praised without acknowledging the toweringly good work turned in by Nick Hurran, Benedict Cumberbatch, Martin Freeman, and Amanda Abbington, and really, stopping there does plenty of people discredit. All the same, the script is a work of stunning genius.

It seems impossible to begin anywhere other than the ending. As I have noted before, this is a script that blatantly advocates for the extra-judicial murder of Rupert Murdoch. Sure, yes, Magnussen is only a transparent metaphor for Murdoch and not Murdoch himself, but all the same, and especially given how willing Moffat has been in interviews to double down and say that he thinks killing Magnusson was the right thing to do, it's hard to overemphasize the moment, especially given the glorious bluntness with which Mary puts it: "People like Magnussen should be killed. That’s why there are people like me."

And indeed, this quote gets at one of the central questions of His Last Vow, namely "what exactly sort of person is Mary Watson?" Actually, this is in some ways the only central question of His Last Vow. Certainly a central question is not the superficial issue of "how far ahead of the game is Sherlock," although this is possibly worth unpacking. We have, by this point, been trained by two consecutive episodes to realize that this is not actually a question upon which Sherlock is inclined to put much weight. The nature of the game is deliberately constructed to twist and wriggle around. Much of the episode is structured around a pair of contrived editing tricks, and while there are occasional clues ("I have an excellent memory') and the episode does technically play fair, it's still blatantly changing the rules of the episode in arbitrary and essentially unguessable ways.

Whether you think this is clever or not is largely a personal decision. But in what we might call the normal order f things, the point of these fair but unguessable twists would be to find ways of putting the hero in considerable danger. And yet in His Last Vow, the two times in which Sherlock is disastrously wrong (as opposed to when he's just blindsided by Mary) are not actually particular problems for him. When he's wrong about the glasses in the restaurant it's essentially irrelevant - he moves calmly on to his Christmas plan barely skipping a beat. Being wrong about Appledore's physical existence is at least more of a problem, but it's clear he always had "shoot the fucker in the head" as a fallback plan, what with telling John to bring his gun.

Which makes sense. Sherlock, after all, is an ontological character, defined as the one who is always ahead of everybody else in the game. And so the question in His Last Vow is never really whether Sherlock is going to win. The question is what winning is going to end up meaning - a question that's foregrounded from the moment we learn that the case requires him to give into his addictions, which is to say, from the first time we see him in the episode.

It is in this context that the episode's real question, the nature of Mary Watson, must be understood. Even though it's not really even raised as a question until the halfway point (Mary drops out of the story after the scene at the hospital, and doesn't resurface until she shoots Sherlock), the entire episode is about her. And we know this from the title, which is set up explicitly in the previous episode. But the title further emphasizes that this is a story about the consequences and nature of victory. This isn't a story about who Mary is - and to be fair, the answer to that is neither terribly interesting nor terribly surprising. Sure, her shooting Sherlock is surprising, but once that happens, the revelation that the person who shot Sherlock is an assassin is not. Nor is it a story about who Magnussen is. It's a story about a vow, and about the meaning and consequences thereof.

This puts us in familiar territory with Moffat, not least because of the fate of Mary's textual equivalent. The entirety of Sherlock Season Three is built around the way in which Mary is a narrative time bomb. In a standard narrative, the nature of the bomb's explosion would be Mary's death, so that John can take blood-stained and suitably grim revenge. Especially since she's pregnant, which is worth, like, double points when fridging a character. And so the constant tension in this story - which is, of course, just Moffat's standard "what sort of story are we telling here" tension - becomes a constant threat that something is going to go terribly wrong for Mary.

It doesn't, of course. And that is in many ways the point. Sherlock's last vow could never really go unfulfilled. It would go against the nature of him as a hero, at least in Moffat's conception of what that means. This isn't about being perfect, clearly - indeed, Sherlock gets almost every single call wrong in this story. It's about something altogether subtler - something that goes back to Mary's line, and also to Mycroft's observation that Sherlock fancies himself a dragonslayer. Heroes exist, for Moffat, for the purposes of going to extremes that we cannot.

This is, ultimately, the real content of the ending. Sherlock is tragically wrong when he proclaims himself to not be a hero. Because what are our heroes for if not to save us from bullying monstrosities like Magnussen? Does this in its own way make Sherlock monstrous? Of course it does, to an extent that genuinely terrifies him, hence the shot in which we see him as a child in the face of the SWAT team and helicopters. But nevertheless, it is heroic. Sherlock saves not just John and Mary's marriage, but everyone Magnussen owned.

But His Last Vow is not some grim meditation on the monstrosity of heroes. This is an aspect of it, certainly, but the idea that heroes are just the monsters we like is a premise, not the point of the exercise. For all the sense that Sherlock has crossed some sort of line by putting a bullet in Magnussen, he gets off scot free at the end of the story, if only via a timely intervention by Moriarty. This is not a story about the angst of the hero. Nor does it ever seem like one, or else the addiction plot thread would have played out very differently.

Because, of course, the dramatic heart of the episode is the scene among Sherlock, John, Mary, and Mrs. Hudson. It's an astonishing scene in which everybody puts in a jaw-dropping performance. (Really, watch it and look at how much Amanda Abbington contributes to the scene despite getting exactly one word of dialogue - a word she delivers with astonishing nuance.) It's a scene in which line after line is stellar, and almost every subsequent scene exists entirely to unpick the consequences of it.

Of course it's great, though. There is perhaps no plot more Moffaty than "Sherlock resolves a marital dispute that erupts when John's wife turns out to be a top class assassin." But this is because it addresses the theme that's been consuming Moffat for nearly a decade now: how do you make a "realistic" psychology for a hero that doesn't devolve into a deconstructionist rejection of the basic idea of heroism. And so we have John and Mary, desperately trying to balance the fact that they are heroes, with all the madness that entails, and people, and Sherlock killing dragons just to keep them together.

Holding it all together is Nick Hurran, upping his game once again. As ever, his willingness to embrace the artifice of television serves Moffat's script well. Hurran never lets go of the fact that this is a story, adding beautiful touches of sheer artificiality. (My favorite is the plant that moves across the room as Sherlock falls, which happens for no reason but to make it look like the room is actually tilting, despite the fact that the story is in no way trying to suggest that it is, although the use of Christmas lights to smooth a transition from Baker Street to Sherlocks' parents is also gorgeously bonkers.) Obviously the "Sherlock figures out how not to die" sequence is particularly good in his hands, and it is in hindsight something of a wonder that it took until Hurran's sixth episode under Moffat for anyone to give him a proper, honest to god dream sequence. But he's also very, very sharp in the small character moments, with an impeccable sense of how to use closeups and reaction shots.

The result is an episode that is as experimental and postmodern as anything that Moffat has done, but that nevertheless feels oddly grounded and straightforward. Moffat has a growing sense of when to just hand solid drama to skilled actors and get out of their way. After a year of Doctor Who where he seemed intent on accelerating the pace more and more, here he really starts to explore the benefits of slamming on the brakes and lingering on a scene. Having learned how much he can get away with trimming, here is where he really starts to show how to balance that, starting with as breakneck a pace as he's ever managed, and ending with a methodical resolution that takes vast and deserved amounts of time to focus on the Watsons. The result is simply one of the best ninety minutes of television ever produced - an unabashed masterpiece made all the better once you realize that this isn't just a good day at the office, but the triumphant debut of a new style for Moffat, and the point where he goes from an innovative and experimental writer to one who has learned a tremendous amount from his experiments and has moved on to learning exactly when to deploy those tricks.
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